


godboy!

by adulterys



Category: Gintama
Genre: (somewhat), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Implied Sexual Content, Letters, M/M, Pining, Shotgunning, Unreliable Narrator, Vignettes, angst???? I think, god AU, the god au we all deserve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27246256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adulterys/pseuds/adulterys
Summary: A faithless heaven howler, he grows up to become, resentful of his teachings, desperate for a boy. Gintoki grows up wondering what it’d feel like to be set on fire, from hands to body to heart.—in which a god is made human at the hands of a boy
Relationships: Hijikata Toshirou/Sakata Gintoki
Comments: 13
Kudos: 69





	godboy!

**Author's Note:**

> huge thank u to azli for being 90% my impulse control and the only reason why this isn’t in the gdocs app trash bin ilysm kawan this behemoth of a fic is for u
> 
> —
> 
> an au where gintoki’s a mountain god and meets hijikata after he runs away from home
> 
> disclaimer: i took some liberties with the canon timeline (sorry there’s no amanto lol) but some canonical events that did occur in gintama’s timeline have been altered to fit this universe aka do i have a hair kink maybe um anyways haha...
> 
> any mistakes made are mine and my own

_“I’m a haunter of the devil, but I hunger after God.”_

_— Gamaliel Bradford, Hunger_

  
  
  


**_godboy!_ **

  
  
  


the before

  
  
  


In the halls of the mountain king, a boy proposes to a god. He covers divine shoulders with a patchwork cloth, stares into the eyes of a beast and offers him his hand.

“Oi, you’re from the village, aren’t you? You need to get up.”

An idea plunges its root-fingers into his hollow brain and the heavens scream in their cloud chambers above. Thunder has never sounded so threatening, never sounded so _good_.

“Yes, somewhere like that. But why?”

Lying is easy. It feels impossibly human, which is hard for him. He loves it. Loves the idea of being less than a king, a mountain. Loves that there’s no one to stop him. 

“There’s a storm coming. We have to go home.” The boy shakes his extended palm, dangles his fingers like bait, like an offering in front of him. “Come on, you can follow me. I won’t get lost.” 

He forgoes his grace with the grasp of his hand, pretends to have shaky legs and shaky fingers as he trails behind the boy. He grips his hand tighter, because nobody is warm in the mountain, because the sun doesn’t reach heaven and the way this boy burns him feels so good. The dead and the lost wail in the smoke of the afterlife, their ghostly fingers tug at his hair. 

(Don’t go, little god, don’t go! they will tear you apart! They will strip you bare! Don’t go, little god, the mountain needs you!)

But he doesn’t need the mountain. 

A cage is still a cage even if it stretches out across half the world. A cage is still a cage if you never see the sun. A key is a wedding, a solemn vow, a silver ring. A key is the surety of an _I won’t get lost_ , stronger and louder than a tempest’s rage. A key is warm hands and blue eyes and red blood. A key is—

“What’s your name?” 

“Huh?”

“Your name. I’m Toushirou. Who are you?”

“Ah! Uh, Gintoki. It’s Gintoki.”

“Okay, Gintoki, let’s go home.”

A cage is a mountain that has no king, that has no god. A cage becomes a boy, furnace fingers, saltwater eyes and all.

The rain catches them halfway down the mountain. The trees curve and bend in the wind, the animals hide under holes and dirt. In the heart of the storm, the spirits won’t stop screaming in his ears. They grow stronger in heaven’s howls, they begin to grow forms in the rain.

They reach for him because they know him, because they know he is a cowardly king and an even weaker god, because they guard the mountain cage and the all-powerful that are bound to it. Because this godling is not and never will be of the earth, no matter how badly he wants to be.

(Do not go, little god! Do not leave! You must return! You have angered your masters!)

He has no master but the string of heat tying itself around his pinky like a promise, no master but this, running in the rain with a blue eyed boy’s hand in his.

He’s seen Toushirou around before. Always alone, gathering sticks and rocks in the mountains. Sometimes he sits by the lake, brushes and parchments scattered in front of him. Gintoki hadn’t been particularly attached then, always eager to help Tatsuma play pranks on him, to watch his cheeks grow red from running when Tatsuma made his papers fly away. Toushirou had been interesting to look at, then. It had been entertaining to watch him struggle with tying up his hair, to hear him curse at his reflection in the lake.

So maybe Gintoki _had_ noticed him back then. So maybe Gintoki was curious. Maybe Gintoki thought Toushirou had the bluest eyes or pinkest lips he’d ever seen. Maybe Gintoki had wanted to be his friend, maybe Gintoki wanted to be him, free to come and go as he pleased. So maybe Gintoki had thought he was pretty under the sunlight, maybe he wanted to reach out and help him tie his hair the way he learnt from watching Zura. So what if that was what he wanted? So _what_.

Right now the sky is so dark Gintoki can barely see anything around him, anything except for him. Toushirou’s hair has come untangled, black strands sticking to his wet face as he runs. There are leaves and dirt on his cheeks from stepping in muddy puddles and pushing past thick bushes. If Gintoki thought he was pretty in the light, he’s downright gorgeous here. Toushirou burns like a bonfire against the dark of the storm, too bright and too hot and way too beautiful. He’s turning around now, head twisting backwards to check whether Gintoki’s still there. It makes Gintoki unreasonably happy, just that single look from him. So Gintoki grips his hand tighter, and never looks back.

The ghosts pulling at his kimono are nothing against Toushirou. He pushes past them as if they aren’t trying to drag him into the ground, to pull Gintoki out of his hands. 

Gintoki thinks he wants to follow him forever, just to keep the ghosts off his back. It doesn’t sound bad at all, he thinks, living the rest of his life chasing after the sun.

  
  


—

  
  


“So where do you live?”

Toushirou still hasn’t let go of him. His palms are rough and wet and hot enough that it feels like the rain can’t touch him. Gintoki imagines water lifting off his skin, droplets sizzling into steam from the heat of Toushirou creeping onto him. He doesn’t register Toushirou’s question, the sound of his voice swallowed by the storm.

“I can’t hear you!” he tells him.

“I _said_ , do you have anywhere to stay?” his voice is louder now, higher too. Gintoki’s leaning forward to hear him and fights the urge to lean even further, to fall headfirst into the heat of him and burn.

“No, I don’t.”

“What about your family?”

“Don’t worry about them, Toushirou-kun,” he tells him, stepping closer because he can’t stand it. He wonders if humans are all this warm, if they’re all as pretty as the sopping wet boy holding his hand. “They won’t find me here.”

Something about that makes Toushirou pause, makes his fingers curl tighter around Gintoki’s. Gintoki thinks he must have said something wrong but Toushirou’s pulling him somewhere in an instant and he loses the thought.

Toushirou’s feet come to a stop in front of a small wooden house. It’s barely standing, barely keeping up against the wind. It’s empty, though. Completely empty.

“This is it. Home,” Toushirou tells him and Gintoki can’t help but laugh.

“What?” Toushirou demands. From his side Gintoki can see his ears turn a lovely shade of red. “What’s so funny about it?”

“Nothing,” Gintoki says and he’s grinning so wide it hurts. “It’s perfect. It’s great. Do you live by yourself here?”

“Yeah. It’s just me,” Toushirou answers. He turns his head to smile at him and Gintoki, former mountain king and all-powerful god, nearly slips on flat ground. “Now you, too.”

  
  


—

  
  


He doesn’t even last a day with Toushirou before Shouyou comes for him. By daybreak there’s a knock on the door, and Gintoki’s blood turns to ice. He knew someone would have come looking for him sooner or later, but he thought Shouyou might have understood. Gintoki goes to open the door because there’s no winning this fight. There’s no winning against heaven.

“Hello, Gintoki,” Shouyou says. Gintoki doesn’t recognise the smile on his face. Shouyou’s smiles are soft and bright and the only comfortable thing on that mountain. This smile is sad and small and wrong. “you have made them very, very angry.”

“Shouyou-sensei, are you here to take me back?”

“Will you come back on your own if I don’t?”

Gintoki quiets down. He doesn’t like lying to Shouyou. He never has.

“Gintoki? Who’s that?” 

It’s Toushirou, half asleep and messy haired. He takes wide strides in Gintoki and Shouyou’s direction, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion as he gets closer.

“You must be Gintoki’s friend, yes?” Shouyou says and his smile grows brighter. “Thank you for taking care of my boy here. I was worried sick about him last night, especially with that terrible storm going on.”

“You’re his father?” Toushirou asks, cautious. He looks at Gintoki as he asks and Gintoki feels his face grow hot. Gintoki meets his eyes and nods, a quick jerk of his head. Toushirou calms and Gintoki’s not sure what to make of it.

“I’ll be taking Gintoki-kun home, now,” Shouyou says, a strange lilt to his tone. “but you can expect to see him tomorrow, friend-kun. I’m sure he’d love to spend time with you while I’m at work. Only if you’re alright with that, of course.”

Gintoki holds his tongue, but he has to clutch the doorframe to keep from falling over. Shouyou isn’t looking at him, and Gintoki can barely process anything but the sound of rushing water in his ears.

“Would you be alright with that, friend-kun?”

Toushirou’s looking straight at him, and Gintoki’s not sure he ever looked away. He watches the corners of his lips lift a little as he speaks and really, he couldn’t have been more wrong before. Toushirou looks best smiling at him.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

  
  


i. victim of faith

  
  
  
  


Gintoki doesn’t really learn how to be human, despite visiting fairly often. He doesn’t quite understand them still, but it’s okay. It’s alright because he learns Toushirou is twelve years old and that his family name is _Hijikata_ and he likes mayonnaise more than anything in the world. He learns that Hijikata Toushirou is terrible at understanding jokes and even worse at telling them, that Toushirou likes to fight and is surprisingly good at it. He learns that Toushirou helps out at a ramen stall every morning and the family that runs it lets him eat there for free. He learns that Toushirou spends most of his paycheck on parchment paper and ink and that the only thing he wants in his life is to become strong.

He learns so many things about Toushirou. Like the sound of his laugh when his mouth’s full of noodles and mayonnaise and the way his eyes twitch when he’s annoyed. He learns what Toushirou’s hair feels like when it’s wet, learns how much he hates snow and the cold. He learns that Toushirou runs hot _everywhere_ , from his hands to his feet to his back when Gintoki asks for piggyback rides. He learns that Toushirou is beautiful in every season, under any sky, gray or blue or black or red.

He learns so much about Toushirou, but he learns a little about himself too. He learns that he loves sweet things like dango and manjuu, learns that he has terrible handwriting and he loves going to onsens. He learns that he can’t swim no matter how hard he tries, and no matter how loud Toushirou yells at him for not moving his arms right. He learns that he’s got more in common with humans than he thought, that he’s neither entirely a god or a king. He learns that he can be more than just all-powerful, that he can be a boy too.

But above all, he learns that he hates learning anything that isn’t about Hijikata Toushirou.

—

  
  


He isn’t always allowed to go down the mountain, but it’s not as bad as it used to be, before. The mountain is no longer a cage, and he is no longer it’s slave. To rule is to serve, after all, but his kingdom isn’t uphill slopes and incense ash, isn’t rolling hills and torii gates anymore. It’s blue eyes and black hair and a name. So it isn’t so bad here, even when he’s stuck on the mountain for days on end and he can’t help but wonder if Toushirou’s forgotten him.

(Of course he has, selfish king. He will forget you, just as they all will, just as the earth will when it crumbles and swallows itself into nothing and only you remain. You will walk over your boy’s shallow grave and his corpse will not recognise your footsteps. He will forget you, he will never love you, but we do! We do, little god, we will never forget you!)

He asks Shouyou what to do, because he knows Shouyou understands. He’s sure Shouyou’s seen it, the way Gintoki gets around Toushirou. He can’t say what it is for sure, what exactly Toushirou does to him, but he likes it. He loves it. He wants more of it. More and more and more, until Toushirou is completely his. Until there’s nothing left for him to take, nothing left about Toushirou he doesn’t know.

Shouyou simply asks, “What does Toushirou-kun like to do?”

And just like that, Gintoki understands.

  
  


—

  
  


_Toushirou-kun,_

_I don’t know why you won’t tell me why you ran away from home. I don’t know why you tried to make me believe you belonged here, but it’s alright. You don’t have to tell me anything. I just want to know everything about you and I’m starting to learn that I can’t always have whatever I want anymore. Even as a god, or a king. I know you write letters all the time. I saw a whole lot of them stuffed under your pillow. I don’t know what they’re for or who they’re for, and I don’t think you’re ever going to tell me. Zura says they’re different from the prayers people write at the shrine, and Shouyou says you write letters for people you love. He says you write them things you can’t say. You must enjoy it, if you’ve written that much already. This is for you, Toushirou. Almost everything is. Anyway, anyway, anyway! I don’t know how to say it but I’m writing it, so here! I think I love you, Toushirou and I don’t think I can ever say it to your face. So I’m writing it. So I’m doing this. I think I love you, Toushirou-kun. I think I want to be just like you. I’m not a hundred percent sure what love really is, but Shouyou says it’s when you never want to let go of something and I think I might die if I can never see you again. So I love you, and I don’t care if you have secrets you can’t tell me. I don’t care what you did before you came here. I’m supposed to be a god, aren’t I? I’ll forgive it. I’ll forgive you. So please don’t forget me, when I’m not there with you. Please keep waiting for me, and I’ll keep forgiving you as long as you need. You never send the letters you write, I noticed. I don’t know why, but there’s still a lot I don’t understand about humans. I’m hoping you’ll teach me. I’m hoping you won’t leave until I understand everything about boys and humans and you. So when you send your letters, I’ll send mine too. If you’ll have them, of course. I hope you will. I hope whoever you’re writing to will accept yours too. If they don’t, it’s okay. I’ll accept them instead. That should be enough, right?_

  
  
  
  


ii. if love exists it is you

  
  
  
  


Toushirou grows up to have a mean right hook and a nasty habit of smoking. He carries a bokuto everywhere now, long and sharp and called _Lake Toya_. He grows up to have blood on his face and splinters in his hands and everytime Gintoki hears the rush of Toushirou’s heartbeat from a fight in the mountain he thinks of his teachings, the falsehoods in which he stares down oblivion with. He thinks they’re all bullshit, because he knows only Toushirou, with his pathetic wooden sword and his loud battle cries and his warm, warm hands. He knows only one truth. It’s the one that burns.

(Humans are inferior, a devolution of our kind. Humans are weak, frail little creatures. Easy enough to kill, like an ant in the grass. You won’t even feel their bones break when you step on them, little one, trust me.)

Gintoki grows up to be bored and bored and terribly powerful. Gintoki also grows up to be an unloyal, crooked king, forever looking down instead of up, ears pressed into the soil like he’s listening for worms. He grows up to have the mountain as a vessel, to bend the roots of his kingdom to obey his will. His will being to trace Toushirou’s heartbeat from miles away, to have Toushirou with him, always, until the end of their days.

A faithless heaven howler, he grows up to become, resentful of his teachings, desperate for a boy. Gintoki grows up wondering what it’d feel like to be set on fire, from hands to body to heart.

  
  


—

  
  


_Toushirou-kun,_

_There’s a gap in the front of your teeth and you told me it’s because you got punched in the face so much as a kid. I knew that, though. I heard every fight. I just wanted you to tell me, then. I’ve always wanted you to tell me things. Now, I want to lick into the space between bone white fangs, I want to taste the split of your teeth from your gums, I want to fit myself in the little space of your mouth that you can never close to be with you forever. Now, I want you to tell me you want me too, so I can want you like a boy instead of from a distance._

  
  


—

  
  


“ _Gintoki_. You’re here.” 

It’s Toushirou, bleeding and bruised and an utter wreck. Toushirou smiles when he sees him and behind the metal end of his kiseru Gintoki catches a glimpse of red teeth. 

“Yeah,” is all Gintoki says, pushing himself off the wooden floor. “I waited for you.” 

He reaches out to cup Toushirou’s face in his, presses his head into the crook of Toushirou’s neck. All he smells is dirt and blood and sweat. There’s even a little bit of tobacco underneath it all, a precious layer of boy hidden beneath grime and violence. It’s comforting to him, the Toushirou-ness of it all. It’s a little pathetic too, that he’s the one that needs comfort when Toushirou’s bleeding out from his head. 

“Let me fix you up,” Gintoki whispers into his collarbone, lets the words sit in the depth of it. He hopes it sinks through his skin, past bone and flesh. Hopes Toushirou will hear him and allow him this, just this. “Let me fix it.”

“Okay,” Toushirou answers. “You need to let me go first, though.”

Toushirou doesn’t push him away. And it could be the fact he’s far too weak to, but Gintoki takes it how he likes. He pulls away from the juncture of skin and muscle he’s found home in and slides his hand from cheek to neck to arm. He tugs and Toushirou follows like a ragdoll. The weight of Toushirou behind him is a strange thing, he comes to realise. He’d much rather spend a lifetime looking at Toushirou’s back than not being able to see him at all.

They don’t say anything as Gintoki peels off his yukata. They don’t say anything as Gintoki moves to get a clean cloth from Toushirou’s bedroom cupboard. The only sound in the world is the water spilling over the wooden bucket as Gintoki plunges his hand and cloth into it. 

Toushirou’s breathing picks up when Gintoki wipes exceptionally close to an open wound, hisses when Gintoki presses the cool cloth over a cut that’s just started bleeding again. Toushirou doesn’t complain throughout it all, and Gintoki almost wishes he would. He doesn’t look as though he’s in a world of hurt, nor does he seem exceptionally bothered by any of his wounds. Gintoki’s faring fairly badly on that end, and he desperately hopes Toushirou can’t feel the way his fingers tremble through the cloth. When he breathes he feels his ribs press into his lungs, when he exhales he’s stretching out the open wound inside his chest and it’s like all the air is just slipping out. It’s a painful process, and he’s feeling every second of it. Which is stupid, because he’s fine. But he’s also not. He’s wondering how often Toushirou gets wounds like this, how often he has to wipe his own skin clean of blood without him there to help.

“How many?” 

He tries to be gentle, wishes to trade his godhood with tenderness, with humanity and the heart that comes with it. The cotton soft hands that are pre-packaged with it. The ability to touch and heal and not have it hurt. The ability to protect and the blessed proximity of it all. 

“Dunno. They ganged up on me,” Toushirou answers. His left eye is swollen shut and there’s a little waterfall of blood dripping down the rocky erosion of Toushirou’s beaten face.

“They must’ve been real good, huh?” Gintoki says, holding his jawline in his palms to steady him as he brings the cloth to his face. “You took a lot of damage.”

“Good thing I have you to patch me up, huh?”

Gintoki’s heart twists like the way the cloth does when he cleans it out later, his tongue grows ten sizes in his throat when the blood come off and Toushirou’s looking back up at him. Toushirou smiles and yeah. Yeah. Toushirou will always have him. Always, always, always.

  
  


—

  
  


_Toushirou-kun,_

_I noticed you wore a gold chain around your neck today. I noticed the pendant that hangs at the end of it, too. It’s a small carving, a god that hovers over your chest by day and watches you sleep at night. It’s green and small and kind of pretty but only when it’s against the colour of your skin. Where did you get it from? Who did you get it from? You have so many secrets, Toushirou-kun. Am I one of them? How many secrets like me do you have? I want to know, but you don’t have to tell me. Really. I have to admit, I’m kind of jealous. I’m kind of bitter. I kind of want to rip it off your neck and hang something of mine there instead. I want to be the only god you believe in. I want to be the only one you carry with you everywhere. I want to watch you sleep forever and be beautiful against your chest. I want to be with you all the time. If I tell you this, will you listen? Or will you run? Will you carve a statue of jade in my image? Will you hang me on a pretty chain around your neck? Or will you curse me? Leave me and forget me? I’m supposed to be all-powerful, Toushirou-kun. I’m supposed to know everything, but I don’t. Not when it comes to you. I’m only ever a god until it comes to you. I don’t know what you’d do if I told you I want you. I don’t know if you’d let me want you and it’s driving me crazy. Crazy enough to want to rip gold from your neck and switch it with silver. Crazy enough to kill every other god to have you only believe in me. Crazy enough to want your faith all to myself. I want you to stay when I tell you I love you. I want you to forgive me when I tell you I want you. Is that alright, Toushirou-kun? Is that too much to ask?_

  
  


—

  
  


It’s so easy to spot him. Dark hair in a sea of gold. The first drop of ink on an empty parchment. The only thing he can see for miles, the only thing he ever wants to see. The wind picks up and so does his footsteps on rocky gravel paths. He’s running through weeds and wheat until all he hears is the crunch of dry grass underneath his sandals. The cool air beats against his back, pushing him forward, closer and closer and there he is, his Hijikata Toushirou.

Toushirou is coal in a gold mine, black hair and black yukata swallowed in a gradient of yellow, more beautiful than wheat fields and oceans and mountains. Toushirou’s sprawled out on the ground like an offering, waiting for a god to claim him, waiting for _him._ Toushirou is perfect in whatever he chooses to be—sacrifice or boy or Sakata Gintoki’s.

“You kept me waiting,” Toushirou says, placing the silver tip of his kiseru into a red lipped mouth. 

He wonders what it’d feel like to taste the metal on Toushirou’s lips, to swallow the ash on his tongue. He wonders whether Toushirou would be gentle, careful, the press of his lips firm and barely there over his. Or would he be the opposite? Fingers digging into his temple as he pulls him over him, teeth meeting teeth, blood mixing blood. He wonders if violence and desperation would taste like tobacco, wonders if want could be anything other than Hijikata Toushirou. He wonders if Toushirou wants him too.

There are strands of wheat in his hair from where he lays on the ground. Gintoki wants to replace them with his fingers, wants to tangle himself in the silk of Toushirou’s hair. 

“Toushirou-kun,” Gintoki starts. “Will you ever stop smoking that awful thing?”

Long eyelashes brush against curved cheeks like butterfly wings beating and Toushirou opens his eyes.

“You worried about me?”

“As if. It just smells terrible. I’m sick of it.”

“Well, too bad,” Toushirou says, turning his head. He blows a mouthful of smoke into Gintoki’s face. His eyes water, and he wrinkles his nose. He’s glad for it though, he’s always loved how Toushirou looks when he’s looking at him.

“You’re disgusting, Toushirou-kun. I hope all your teeth rot and fall off.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Gintoki confirms, laying his back down next to Toushirou. He tucks his arms under his head and closes his eyes. “I hope you go bald too. I curse ten strands of hair to fall off your head every time you smoke.”

He hears Toushirou huff. He can see the smoke curl out of the corners of Toushirou’s upper lip in his head, he can almost feel it on his skin.

“You really hate me smokin’ that much?”

“Yeah, I told you. It’s gross.”

“Huh. I guess I’ll just have to change your mind, then,” Toushirou says and kisses him.

Toushirou has always been white hot, from his temper to his fingertips to the tobacco he loves so dearly. Toushirou has always been something akin to a forest fire, stretching out for miles and miles and impossible to stop. Toushirou has always been a slow kind of pain, starting from the center of Gintoki’s chest to the base of his throat, something a little like poison. But right now, right here, Toushirou is lightning, thunder, never giving him time to cover his ears.

Toushirou, the storm-hearted boy, leans over and kisses him and it’s nothing like he ever imagined. It’s not soft or violent, there is no blood or teeth. There is only Toushirou’s mouth on his and Toushirou’s smoke in his throat. Toushirou’s eyes are closed, his lashes lie still against his skin, and from the corner of their mouths a thin trail of smoke escapes. Like a chimney, like something’s burning. It could be Gintoki’s heart, or his tongue, or his godhood under the perfect mouth of a perfect boy.

Then, Toushirou pulls away, pulling his heart out from his throat by the tip of his tongue. Gintoki coughs, and coughs, and before Toushirou can run any further away he reaches up to grip his face in-between his palms, brings Hijikata Toushirou down to him and kisses him again. And again. And again. And again. He doesn’t want to let Toushirou go, far too afraid that each kiss he takes from Toushirou will be their last. Before Toushirou’s eyes open again and see _him_ , the god, not the boy and never come back. But Toushirou pulls away, and because Toushirou’s the cage, the key, the mountain king of his heart, Gintoki lets him.

“Toushirou. Toushirou.”

“What?” Toushirou leans down again, but doesn’t kiss him, still catching his breath. He’s lying flat on top of Gintoki now, chin propped on his chest, over his heart. “What?”

“Toushirou.” Gintoki’s not sure why his voice cracks, so he blames it on the tobacco. Everything’s Toushirou’s fault. Everything and nothing at all. “Toushirou, are you sure? Do you want this?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You. This. Do you know what you’re doing? Do you have any idea what this means?”

Toushirou stares. In one fluid motion, he pushes himself up from his elbows, his long hair falls like curtains around his shoulders. No gods will help Gintoki, so he prays to the boy, the king, the next best thing.

“I know that you want me,” Toushirou says. “and I know I want you too. I’ve wanted you for a long time. Is that good enough for you?”

_Everything about you is good enough for me._

Kings aren’t generally honest, nor are they particularly strong, especially under the gaze of a boy like Hijikata Toushirou, so Gintoki simply kisses Toushirou again. All because he can.

  
  


—

  
  


_Toushirou-kun,_

_Your body is the only shrine I want to guard for the rest of my life. Everything about you is sacred. Everything about you is worth more to me than all the power in the world. Does that scare you, Toushirou-kun? Does it scare you to be worshipped by something like me?_

  
  


—

  
  


Toushirou slips his tongue into his mouth and Gintoki learns another thing about boys. He learns that a cage can become a home as easily as it was a prison. He learns that boys have hot hands and even hotter mouths and that they’re alright with wanting a god. They’re alright with kings between their legs and monster claws in their hair. They’re alright with biting and licking and being loved by something wholly unnatural. Gintoki learns they’re beautiful in every season, every weather, but they turn godly underneath his body, when they’re calling his name and clawing at his skin and dragging him closer and closer and closer until neither of them know where the boy ends and the god begins. Gintoki learns he’s always been in love, and that this boy, the only boy, loves him too. Gintoki learns what it truly means to be a god from a boy in a wooden little house far, far away from his mountains.

  
  


—

  
  


“You’re not human, are you?”

“What do you think? Don’t I look human to you?” A kiss to his nose. A kiss to his forehead. Toushirou’s bangs tickle his lips and he feels Toushirou’s eyes slide shut when the tail ends of his eyelashes brush against his fingertips. “Doesn’t this feel human? Huh, Toushirou-kun?”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Toushirou answers, snorting as Gintoki settles his thighs on top of Toushirou’s, calves hooked around his waist. Gintoki slides his arms down, curling around Toushirou’s shoulders like a skin-bone noose, fingers sliding together like a brace behind his head. “You’re not even close.”

“Does that bother you? Does that make you mad?”

“No,” Toushirou says, fingers spread out at the end of his spine. He pulls him closer, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat, god to boy. “I’m not mad. Did you ever want me to find out?”

“Hmm,” he hums, pressing his forehead against his. He feels like a boy, just a boy, so he lets himself be honest. “Not really. Didn’t want you to see me differently. Didn’t want to let you go.”

“As if I’d let you go over something like that,” Toushirou says, snorting, leaning forward to press his face into Gintoki's chest. “Just don’t expect me to burn incense for you or anything, okay?”

“I don’t need you to.”

Toushirou’s mouth is under his jaw. Each touch of his lips against skin feels like Gintoki’s getting branded. He doesn’t mind it. it doesn’t hurt. Nothing ever hurts around Toushirou. He likes being branded like this, loves it, feels like he’s worthy to wear the mark of a real god, feels like he’s nothing but Toushirou’s.

“Good. That’s good.” Toushirou places a kiss under Gintoki’s ear, deliberate, light. It sends tremors down his spine and he can’t help but curl forward into Toushirou’s arms. “You don’t have to be a god with me. You can just be Sakata Gintoki.”

  
  


—

  
  


Toushirou actually laughs when Gintoki tells him he still can’t swim.

“It’s been years, you big idiot,” Toushirou says. His hair is brown under the sun and his cheeks look like they’re pumped full of liquid gold when he smiles. “I thought you would’ve learnt how to swim by now.”

“You only ever taught me once. How was I supposed to learn all on my own?” he answers, narrowing his eyes into a glare and away from Toushirou’s cheeks and lips and smile.

“I dunno.” Toushirou’s fingers leave his kiseru. The metal is held between only the white of his teeth and Gintoki can only watch, astounded, as he reaches his hand up to cup his cheek. His thumb brushes the corner of his right eye. He feels the tip of Toushirou’s fingernail against his eyelashes and his eye closes instinctively. Gintoki’s entire face burns and he’s sure it has everything to do with the heat from Toushirou’s hand. Hijikata Toushirou, a god of fire, if he’s ever seen one. His god of fire brings his face closer to his, bumps his forehead against his and Gintoki feels flames start from the roots of his hair all the way into his brain. He doesn’t even mind how narrowly the hot end of the kiseru misses his face. Doesn’t care about anything except for Hijikata Toushirou, standing impossibly close and not nearly close enough.

“I dunno,” Toushirou says again, pulling away. From his one opened eye Gintoki sees him smile, a crooked little thing that has his kiseru shaking between his lips. “I thought you were supposed to be a god. Thought you lot could do anything, being all-powerful and whatnot.”

Gintoki snorts. _Do anything? Do what? What’s all the power in the world worth if you didn’t love me back? If I were truly all-powerful would you ever reach for me like this? I don't think so, Toushirou-kun. I don't believe you. I’m only a god right now, right here, in the palm of your hands, Toushirou. I’m a god only for you._

“You’re just a shit teacher,” Gintoki says. “You’ve traumatised me for life. Even the _thought_ of stepping into water terrifies me, Toushirou-kun! Take responsibility!”

Toushirou’s grin is sharp enough to hurt.

“Then I will. Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“You’ll see,” Toushirou answers, arm curling around Gintoki’s shoulders. Gintoki doesn’t think much of it, just happy to lean in closer. Which proves to be a fatal mistake, because he barely registers Toushirou’s free arm sneak behind his legs and lifts him off his feet.

“You _snake_ ,” Gintoki yelps in-between laughs, arms curling around Toushirou’s neck. He feels his sweat on his forearm, feels wet strands of hair stick to his skin. “Help! Help! I’m being kidnapped! Help!”

“As if anyone would want to kidnap someone as worthless as you,” Toushirou says, picking up his pace until he’s jogging.

“But you do,” Gintoki teases, reaching up to pluck the kiseru from Toushirou’s mouth. He places it in his own and breathes in.

“Yeah, I do.” He hears Toushirou’s words from his chest first before the sound reaches his ears. He closes his eyes and counts Toushirou’s heartbeat until they reach the foot of the mountain.

”You’ve ruined my arms, you big oaf. I can barely feel them anymore,” Toushirou groans, dropping Gintoki on his feet. “Next time _you_ carry me, see how you like it.”

“I never asked for it,” Gintoki counters, leaning over to kiss the sweat off Toushirou’s cheek. “But fine. Next time.”

Toushirou pushes him off and takes his hand, pulling him behind as he takes the first step onto the mountain trail. There's something about coming here with Toushirou that feels completely different. Suddenly he doesn’t recognise the mouldy footpath or the curve of the trees. Suddenly he doesn’t know where he is or what he’s doing, only that he’s with Toushirou. Only that he’s holding his hand. Gintoki doesn’t feel a single step he takes. Feels like he’s weightless as he trails two steps behind Toushirou. Toushirou is the only tether he has left of this world so he follows it, follows his blue eyed north star wherever he goes.

They end up in a clearing where the little lake is. It’s rather far up the mountain, at least a twenty minute hike up there from where they started, but Gintoki had felt none of it. He’d forgotten his numbers and mathematics, measured time in each time Toushirou turned his head to make sure Gintoki was still following behind him, each time Toushirou had pulled Gintoki’s wrist closer to him.

“What are you planning to do, Toushirou-kun?”

He wants to whine at the loss of Toushirou’s hand, wants to press his entire body to Toushirou’s to get the warmth back. But Toushirou’s taking off his yukata and Gintoki forgets why he was ever upset in the first place.

“I’m taking responsibility,” he answers, throwing his dark blue yukata to the side. Toushirou doesn’t give him any warning—really, Gintoki should stop expecting one—before kissing him right on the mouth. Toushirou pulls Gintoki closer, and vaguely he feels Toushirou pull at his obi, vaguely registers the feeling of his own yukata sliding off his shoulders.

Gintoki pulls away to breathe, feeling mildly annoyed that he even needs to. He was ready to suffocate in Toushirou, to have Toushirou in his throat, his lungs, forever. Toushirou takes the opportunity to grab at his arm, pulling him towards the lake. He jumps in, not a single word uttered to Gintoki beforehand, dragging them both underwater. Gintoki resurfaces, chest heaving, struggling to catch his breath. The lake is fairly shallow, the water coming up to his collarbones.

“You’re horrible, Toushirou-kun,” Gintoki wheezes out in-between breaths. “First you kidnap me then you try to kill me. I could have you arrested, you know?”

“I thought you wanted me to take responsibility?”

“Not by attempting murder!”

“Don’t tell me you’re still scared to put your head underwater,” Toushirou says, chuckling. Gintoki doesn’t answer, chooses to huff like a child and splash a handful of water at Toushirou’s face.

“Wait, you’re serious?”

“Shut up! Everybody has a fear of drowning, alright? You’re just a freak!”

“Honestly,” Toushirou tells him, moving closer to Gintoki. Gintoki doesn’t look at his face, far too enthralled by the way the water moves around his skin, the way the blue of the lake curves and reflects onto Toushirou’s skin. “What kind of no-good god is scared of drowning?”

“Any perfectly sensible god.”

“Nah,” Toushirou says. “Not just any god. _My_ god.”

Then he pushes Gintoki’s head underwater. Gintoki panics, his limbs trash around aimlessly, desperately trying to kick off the force holding him down. He blindly reaches for Toushirou, because Toushirou’s conquered even the most basic of Gintoki’s instincts. His eyes are shut, and in his panicked haze he feels two familiar hands on the side of his cheeks. He's about to open his mouth to yell at Toushirou, regardless whether his voice would travel through water, but he can’t. He can’t do anything because Toushirou pulls his face towards him and presses his lips against his.

He learns another fact that day about himself. He learns that he needs Hijikata Toushirou the same way he needs oxygen. That as long as he has Hijikata Toushirou, he’ll never ever drown. He learns that day that he will never ever need anything in his life other than this boy, this boy made of oxygen and gold and every north star in the sky. He learns there is nothing in this world he needs besides this boy who doesn’t care whether he’s a god or a human, who only cares about chasing away his ghosts and making him his. (Underwater, on a wooden floor, in the middle of a wheat field, Gintoki is his. All his, forever.)

Toushirou laughs when they resurface, because boys need to breathe as much as gods do, and Gintoki finds he’s not that scared of drowning anymore.

  
  


—

  
  


_Toushirou-kun,_

_I love you. I said that to you today. I’ll say that to you every day. I love you. I love you. I love you. I've never loved anything before you. I don’t think I can ever love anything after you. I love you, Toushirou-kun. I love you. I love so many things about you, I couldn’t begin to list them all. I also don’t want to list them all. On the off chance you do receive this, I don’t want you to know. You have your secrets, so I’ll keep mine. You are my secret, Hijikata Toushirou-kun. You are my everything. I’ll let you in on something though. I love a lot of things about you, but you wanna know what I love the most? That you love me too._

  
  
  
  


iii. if i never say your name out loud nobody else can have it

  
  
  
  


(Red blood on enamel, your silver crusted fang, you’re addicted to boy-flesh, traitor, you’ve gotten yourself sick—

fingers stained and slick—

 _shut up_.

feet unsteady, you are doomed to _slip_ —

oh, _shit._ )

Toushirou tastes like firewood smoke, tastes like rain, tastes familiar like spring water over mossed rocks. He smells like cigar smoke and mountain dirt. Toushirou is a boyking in his hands. Against his mouth. Underneath his yukata. Lying flat against the wet gravel path. Gintoki wants more. So he takes, because he’s never learned to give, and he isn’t sure Toushirou would want anything he could give him. Toushirou doesn’t need anything he’d give him. So he takes, because it’s human nature to be compassionate, it’s a king’s to steal.

The sakura tree bark turns bright red and smooth with the force of Toushirou’s body slamming against it. Red and tall and solid over their heads, wood into stone, the pillar of a torii gate. The entire thing shakes with all the force of an earthquake and Gintoki licks across the open wound on Toushirou’s lips, trying to draw out more blood, just as an insult. He imagines torii gates toppling, shrines collapsing into rubble, empty halls filling with dust and stone blocks and mountains sinking a hundred feet underwater. Toushirou, at the center of it all. His blue eyes will shine like gems in the ruins and together they will build an empire of their own. It’ll rain every day there, on their own little planet. Gods won’t exist, neither will boys. It’ll just be Hijikata Toushirou and Sakata Gintoki hidden away on a rainy little world with no mountains and no shrines until the end of it all.

  
  


—

  
  


Toushirou has his fingers in the thick of Gintoki’s hair. The silver threads part for Toushirou as if he was Moses, as if every fibre of Gintoki’s being recognises Toushirou as something biblical. 

Gintoki’s got his head underneath the sharp end of Toushirou’s chin, ear pressed to his chest. His cheek is flattened against Toushirou’s bare skin, and Gintoki relearns the foundation of the world. Gintoki abandons all prior knowledge, all Shouyou’s diligent teachings for this, his new world, his Promised Land. He learns the world is Toushirou’s heartbeat in his ears, Toushirou’s heart one thin layer of skin away from being his. They’re so close now. So, so close. Gintoki thinks that if he crooks his little vulture claws into his chest his fingers will sink right through flesh and bone like quicksand. Gintoki wants to try it, wants to press his face into the earth of Toushirou’s body, to be buried beneath it. He wonders if Toushirou’ll let him make a grave out of his body, let him be his final resting place. 

Toushirou isn’t smoking now but the scent of tobacco still hangs onto his skin. Or maybe Gintoki’s imagining things. Maybe he’s so caught up in Toushirou and the fire of him that he will never stop smelling smoke whenever they’re together. It doesn’t bother Gintoki, though. 

The kiseru is on the edge of the futon, empty and silver tipped. Next to it lies Toushirou’s gold necklace. Gintoki almost smiles at the memory of the jade carvings under his teeth, the way roughness of the chain was threatening to cut into his lip. He’d wanted to swallow the little gold necklace, pretty green pendant and all. He wanted to swallow it whole, suck the markings of another god out of Toushirou and burn it in the pit of his stomach. Toushirou had reached up and opened his mouth, thumb pressing into the corners of his lips, stretching out Gintoki’s jaws like one would do a rabid animal and gently took the necklace out. Gintoki, far too caught up in the heat of things, had ignored the almost tender way Toushirou had placed it on the side of the futon. 

He stares at it now, the memory of it plays out like ghosts performing a haunting in his head. Toushirou’s never been that tender with him, has he? Hasn’t he? Toushirou has always threaded the line between violence and softness so gracefully. When he reaches his hand across the threshold it ripples and curves, parts ways for this abomination who is both and neither. Gintoki’s caught in the cross section of this frankenstein of affection and when he kisses him—or hits him—it feels so good Gintoki falls in love all over again.

Toushirou notices him stare, because Toushirou is omnipotent, Toushirou is the entire universe and more. Toushirou is the answer to everything, the key to the entire world.

“You want to know who I got it from,” he says. Gintoki turns his head, his chin propped up on Toushirou’s heart. He prays he won’t sink, not now. Maybe later, though, if he’s lucky.

“I met this guy a few months ago,” he starts. “He’s part of a dojo on the outskirts of the village. He helped me out when I was in a pretty rough situation. Even took me back to his dojo to patch me up and—”

“Why didn’t you come here? I would’ve helped you.”

“How would you have known, huh? You wouldn’t have been here.” 

Gintoki can’t refute him. It normally doesn’t bother him this way. Toushirou snorts, but his fingers slide down his head to his face and begin to trace the dips on Gintoki’s face. Gintoki wonders if Toushirou’s trying to remake his face after Toushirou’s own image, rearrange his features until he’s perfect. Gintoki lets him, closes his eyes and memorises the slight abrasiveness of his finger digits against heavenly flesh. He’s always been perfect with Toushirou, god or boy or other.

“Anyway,” he continues. “Kondo-san let me stay at the dojo for a while to recover. There’s a kid there, another student. I met his sister a while back and when I went back to see them, she gave me the necklace. Said it was something she got from the shrines, said I looked like I needed some luck. Yeah, so, I’m helping out at the dojo now. It’s good work. They’re good people.”

“Hmm,” Gintoki says, nose wrinkling when Toushirou drags his index finger down the slope of it. “You like them?”

“Yeah. I really do.”

“As much as you like me?”

Toushirou pinches his cheeks and the moment’s ruined. He yelps, pushing himself up into sitting position to pull on Toushirou’s face. Toushirou laughs and curses and Gintoki forgets. He forgives, and at the end of it when Toushirou’s struggling to catch his breath under him, Gintoki leans over and kisses him.

“Hey,” Toushirou says. “now that you know about the dojo, I might not be able to come back here that often anymore. Is that alright with you?”

Gintoki barely hears it. He’s too busy trying to bite at Toushirou’s lips, too busy trying to crawl into the cave of Toushirou’s mouth and stay there to properly register anything. He hums, because it’s not like Toushirou’s going to be gone forever, and it’s not like Toushirou isn’t already his, and he really, really wants to kiss him again.

“Thank you,” Toushirou whispers against his lips and Gintoki drowns.

  
  


—

  
  


“Been a while,” Toushirou greets him. His back looks wider against the moonlight than he remembers. He's holding a kiseru in his hand, smoke floating above his head to gather like storm clouds.

 _since when do you smoke like that since when do you care since when have you stopped waiting for me to come since when have you forgotten me—_

“That smells horrible,” he answers, whines like an animal. To be anything but what he is. “You still have such bad taste.”

There’s a gap between his lips, the pitch black of his mouth covered over with the density of the smoke. He could get lost in it, the after-rain fog of him. Toushirou’s moving close, and closer still. The kiseru is held high in his fern wisp fingers, silver against dark wood like a nail on a coffin. He can smell the tobacco on his clothes, lets Toushirou press his forehead against his and warm the air around him. It's a small tilt of the head, an accident even, and Toushirou’s pushing the thick of the kizami tobacco across the roof of his mouth, scraping the surface of his tongue, down his throat, through his heart. A knife of a boy, this Hijikata Toushirou. His silver’s more gray, though, more like smoke than metal but he cuts through the body just the same.

He hears the kiseru drop, roll, gone. He hears Toushirou’s back hit the futon before he feels his chest against his. Toushirou’s fingers curl over his, pulling his hand away from his face. It’s burning like forest fire, his skin, his smoke. His god-hands melt like hot iron in Toushirou’s palm, his king-lungs rust over with a layer of tobacco ash. 

Toushirou’s always had such bad taste.

—

  
  


Not all love stories have to be tragedies, not every boy has to be a cage. He knows this firsthand. Just like he knows this _is_ a love story, that his obsession is enough to swallow anything else. He knows this better than any other obsolete truth he was taught to believe. Bcwuae his love story _is_ a boy, fool! So a tragedy can only be a cage when he loses the boy! And if he never loses the boy, if he always keeps him near, his life will be a sonnet. The boy will be his, as long as he lives.

Gintoki’s life is a sonnet, a small song composed of the days spent rhyming Toushirou’s name with his hands with his mouth. Fourteen lines is a lifetime in human years and he’ll never run out of patterns.

But Gintoki’s forgotten about the sestet curse, the inevitable changing trajectory of every boy-sonnet. 

(The last six lines are approaching, little one, traitor of the mountains. The volta is fated for a creature like you. So, what will it be? What will you do?)

  
  
  
  


iv. what is a life worth living if i can’t hold your hand

  
  
  
  


He doesn’t know whether the heat behind his eyelids come from the press of Toushirou’s lips against it or something else entirely. Toushirou knocks their foreheads together, a gentle bump that has their noses brushing. Gintoki’s eyes are still closed, still on fire, too afraid of what he might see if he opens them. What Toushirou might see. Would he see a god, scared and confused? Or would he simply see a boy, hopelessly in love with another boy? Would he still place kisses underneath the curve of a silver brow? Would he still smile against pale cheeks that can never turn red? Would he still take his hand, monsters and mountains and all? Would he still mean it? From _I won’t get lost_ to _I want you too_?

“Hey,” Toushirou says. “Stop thinking. It’s not like you.” 

He stays still, feels Toushirou’s words take form in his breath. 

“Will you open your eyes for me, Gintoki?“

 _Yes, no. Yes, no. Yes, anything for you, no, I don’t want you to see me, I don’t want to see you and not have you, not when you’re like this, not when you’re so far away in the same breath as I._

He shakes his head, feels something warm leave his eyes and gather at the base of his chin. 

“Gintoki, Gintoki, look at me.”

“No, I—I don’t know what’s happening, Toushirou, I—”

“Don’t be afraid. It’s just me. It’s just us, Gintoki. Just you and me. So, please, look at me.”

“I’m looking,” he manages. “H-how long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know,” Toushirou says, pressing their foreheads together. Toushirou’s warmth permeates through his skin in an instant, the heat of Toushirou almost enough to distract him from the one behind his eyes. “I’ll come back to see you, though. I won’t be gone forever.”

“Do you really want to go?”

_Do you want me to go with you?_

“Yes. I do. Will you give me your blessing, Shiroyasha-dono?”

Gintoki’s always been honest with Toushirou, refused to be like the other gods he knew, cold and merciless and liars. He always thought he was different with Toushirou, always thought he could be honest the way he was, the way humans were. Gintoki’s never lied before, and neither has Toushirou. But Gintoki’s also never cried before today and Toushirou’s never asked to leave before, so only for today, he lets himself lie. He lies, tears like rivers of lava down his cheeks, and says _Okay_.

Later, when Toushirou kisses the tears off his face, he wonders whether it burns his tongue. Secretly, ashamedly, he hopes it does.

  
  


—

  
  


(You cannot disguise his cage as your love, cannot feed him your heart every night and expect one to grow in him. Open the doors, guardian of the monsters! Heaven is still a prison if he can never leave. If he doesn’t know hell beforehand. If it’s just you and him and you’re the only one in love!)

  
  


—

  
  


Quietly, he thinks, this is not enough. Quietly, he screams, claws his eyes out. In his own quiet he’s pulling at the ends of Toushirou’s hair, tying the tips of it around his wrist. He plunges black roots into his veins, pushes them deeper and deeper until they’re connected—wrist to scalp, skin to flesh. Until Toushirou is stuffed so deep into the murky depths of Gintoki’s body and soul that he will never resurface. _I can carry you,_ he thinks. _I can carry the weight of both of our souls. Won’t you let me have this burden? Won’t you let me be selfish?_

Out loud, Toushirou asks him to cut his hair before he leaves for Edo and Gintoki simply says _Okay_.

Quietly, Gintoki is dying. He feels like stabbing the scissors set by his thighs right through his chest, if only to shut his heart up. He feels like tearing his eyelids open and sticking the sharp end of the thing right into his eyes to get the burning to just fucking stop. 

Quietly, Gintoki mourns. He mourns for a boy like one would mourn for the dead, head hung low and regrets he’ll never say eroding the walls of his mouth. Except his boy is alive, is soft and malleable underneath his fingertips, has long black hair that he’s asking him to cut. His boy may as well be dead, Gintoki thinks, ever so quiet as he takes a brush and presses it gently to the crown of his boy’s head. Quietly, Gintoki’s dying with his long haired boy, breaking apart like each knot he forces the hard bristles through. Quietly, Gintoki watches Toushirou’s eyes close with his head against his thighs and begins to cry.

“That feels good,” Toushirou says. Gintoki feels the vibrations of his voice from the dead strands of hair spread across his lap. Gintoki smiles and that too is quiet, but Toushirou, god and boy and everything in-between, hears him so he smiles in return. (Toushirou is always listening to him, even when he doesn’t want to be heard.)

His hair is a river of ink across his lap. Gintoki wants to fall in headfirst, wonders how far until he reaches the bottom if he dips his fingers through. He wants to drown, get caught in the riptide of Hijikata Toushirou, but that’s not what Toushirou’s asking, so that’s what Gintoki does not do. Gintoki has always been at the mercy of Toushirou, whether it’s in loving him or leaving him, Gintoki will always be there to watch his back. 

“You can start cutting now,” Toushirou says, sitting up. Gintoki’s heartbeat picks up. He doesn’t want to start. He doesn’t ever want to start. Starting means ending and Gintoki never wants this to end. He used to think Toushirou didn’t either. 

“Okay,” Gintoki says. Quietly, he picks up the scissors. Quietly, he wants to snap the thing in half. 

He smooths out Toushirou’s hair, delaying the inevitable. The silver of the metal is stark against black locks and Gintoki’s never hated the colour as much as he does now. He starts cutting, eventually. He makes slow, uneven cuts, trying to steady his shaky hand. Quietly, the house is being set on fire around him and Gintoki is trapped under chunks of flaming debris. 

Out loud, Toushirou asks him, “Everything alright back there?”

Quietly, _No_. _How can you ask that? How can you think that? How? How? How?_

Out loud, he says, “Yeah. I think I’m doing a pretty good job. I might have to charge you for this.” 

Toushirou snorts and calls him a rotten excuse of a god. Out loud, Gintoki smiles. Quietly, Gintoki begs. _Why? Why? Why?_

Toushirou closes his eyes again and Gintoki doesn’t know which hurts more, the way his eyelids slide shut or Toushirou’s hair gathering by his knees. 

Toushirou closes his eyes and Gintoki says, “Does it really feel that good?” 

Toushirou hums. Soft, gentle, quiet. 

“How short do you want it?”

“Whatever you think looks best. I trust you.”

“Fine. No take backs, alright? You don’t get to complain when I’m done,” Gintoki answers. 

Quietly, Gintoki says _You trust me with your hair, with your life, so why don’t you trust me enough to stay?_

Toushirou’s hair is up to his shoulders now and the cut strands of his hair gather like ashes in front of them. Each _snip_ has the pile growing taller until it is a mountain in front of Gintoki. Yet another mountain between him and Toushirou, growing taller, taller, taller. Quietly, Gintoki builds himself a mountain. Quietly, he cuts himself a new cage. 

_Snip._

_Snip._

_Snip._

Gintoki thinks this is the sound of dying, scissor blades sliding together in a terrible cycle, tearing through hair and heart and bone. Quietly, Gintoki thinks this is how he dies, with Toushirou turned away from him and unrecognisable by his own hands. He starts trimming the sides and as he narrowly misses the meat of Toushirou’s ears he vaguely wonders whether the sound is as deafening to him as it is to Gintoki. It must not be, though. Toushirou keeps his eyes closed the whole time.

“You can open your eyes now, Toushirou-kun. I’m done.”

“Took you long enough.”

Toushirou lifts his hand, brushing stray pieces of hair from his neck. Gintoki leans forward and presses his lips against his fingers, presses his face into the unfamiliar, bare slope of Toushirou’s neck.

“What are you doing, clingy bastard?” 

Toushirou reaches for him then, twisting his body around to face Gintoki. He reaches both hands up to cup Gintoki’s face, steadying him in front of him. As if he wants to get a clear look at his face. As if _he’s_ the one Toushirou doesn’t recognise. He wonders if this is Toushirou’s way of remembering him, fingers memorising the shape of Gintoki’s face, the way he does so often. He wonders if all those times were enough for Toushirou. Wonders if he’s the only one who wants more.

Gintoki takes this opportunity to bury himself in Toushirou’s palms, file away Toushirou’s warmth into the back of his brain. (Not too far away though, always within reachable distance.)

“How does it look?” Toushirou asks, quiet but loud enough for him to hear. Toushirou has always been loud enough for the both of them. 

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” Gintoki answers, honest. “I do. I like it. It suits you.” 

Toushirou smiles and Gintoki thinks he will never grow used to it. He presses his mouth to Toushirou’s smile to trace the curve of it against his lips and after all this time, it still feels new. Toushirou will never get old, he thinks ever so quietly. Toushirou will stay new and young and warm for the rest of his life, but Gintoki won’t be there to see it. Won’t be there to have the breath knocked out of his chest everytime it happens. Won’t ever have the chance to grow immune to it. He’ll be stuck with this burning fever alone, he realises, for the rest of his life. 

“Then, since you did such a good job, what would you like as payment, Shiroyasha-dono?” 

Quietly, he says, _For you to stay_. And in his quiet, quiet world where Toushirou has long hair and is always smiling, he does. 

“You. I want you,” Gintoki answers and suddenly, Toushirou’s pushing him down onto his back. Suddenly, Sakata Gintoki’s world is gold like wheat fields and Hijikata Toushirou kissing him silent.

“Deal.”

Quietly, Gintoki cries, and cries, and Toushirou never leaves. Out loud, Gintoki burns not for the first, but the last time and Toushirou doesn’t leave, but only for the night.

  
  


—

  
  


_Toushirou-kun,_

_It’s been a day since you’ve left for Edo. Is it cold out there? Are your friends warm enough for you? I went down to your house today. You didn’t leave any food around so I bought some for you. I had to use your kitchen, by the way. I made onigiri, just how you taught me. It’s a little different from the way you make it, though. First off, I didn’t put any mayonnaise in it. (It’s so much better with azuki beans!) The ends aren’t as sharp as yours and I had a little trouble getting the rice to not fall apart but I did it. It tasted pretty good too. Don’t worry, I’ll make some for you when you come back, okay, Toushirou-kun? I’ll keep practising until it’s perfect. Until you come back._

  
  


—

  
  


_Toushirou-kun,_

_The wheat field has died. Nobody’s tended to it lately. It’s such a shame. Zura says it died from a lack of water. I just think it misses you. It hasn’t been raining lately, which is good. I can’t stand storms anymore. I’m not scared of it or anything. Hanging around you was kind of like getting caught in the middle of one. So no, it doesn’t scare me. I just don’t like them anymore. The storms don’t feel right without you here to hold my hand under them. The rain doesn’t feel right without your mouth on mine. If I’m being honest, Toushirou, if you’ll let me be honest, nothing feels right without you here. Not the village or the mountain or your own house. It’s okay, though. I’m sure I’ll get used to it eventually. It’s your home, after all. I’ll just have to keep it warm for you until you come back. In the meantime, I hope Edo treats you well. I hope it rains every day there._

  
  


—

  
  


_Toushirou-kun,_

_It’s been a year. Have you forgotten me? I don't remember how to write these. I've gotten too used to talking to you. Do you still write letters? Have you sent them yet? How will I know when you do?_

  
  


—

  
  


_Toushirou-kun,_

_You are coming back, right? You wouldn’t lie to me, right? Your roof is broken, you know. Your door has fallen off its hinges waiting for you. We’re all waiting, Toushirou-kun. Hurry up, you bastard. I’m waiting._

  
  


—

  
  


_Toushirou-kun,_

_I’m tired of listening to your heartbeat. I want to listen to you. Your voice, your laugh, your footsteps on a wooden floor, your breathing in the night. I’m going to be honest again, Toushirou. I’m going to assume you’re okay with that. I used to speak to you when you were asleep. You never ever heard me and I know that it’s my fault for speaking too softly. Can you blame me though? I didn’t know I could be soft until I met you. You never did hear me, but I liked to pretend you were listening. That you liked it when I was honest, when I told you things instead of writing them down and hiding them away. I liked to think you wanted to know everything about me too. I can’t talk to you anymore, but I can still write. I can still be honest. I can still pretend you’re here. I hope you can hear me, wherever you are. I hope you remember what I sound like, Toushirou. I hope you still want to hear me talk._

  
  


—

  
  


_Toushirou-kun,_

_Sometimes your heartbeat gets a little faster. Sometimes it slows down. Zura says it slows when you sleep, and it beats faster when you’re happy. Are you happy in Edo? Are you at home there? How are the people in Edo? Are they just as warm as you? Do they make you happy? Have you met someone that makes your heart beat faster? Did your heart ever beat faster around me? I have so many questions to ask you, Toushirou. I have so many questions and no answers. No you._

  
  


—

  
  


_Toushirou-kun,_

_Takasugi’s taken up smoking. His kiseru is longer than yours and he grinds his own kizami powder. It smells different from yours, I think. I’m not sure why I think it does. Zura says it all smells the same, and he could be right. I've got this habit of turning everything into you. Kiserus and tobacco, lightning and wheat fields. They’re all just a cartography of the you I live in. Everything is you, Toushirou, everything and nothing at all. Do you understand? Do you know what you did? Was it your intention? Was this your plan all along, to remake my world after you so I wouldn’t miss you when you left? Did you plan to leave me all along? How could you think it was enough, Toushirou? That I would want anything that isn’t you? The real you. Maybe you didn’t want me to want you. That’s okay, Toushirou, I’m not mad. You must pity me. I wonder if you actually do. I don't mind you pitying me if it means you’re thinking of me. Do you pity me now? I hope you do. Because congratulations, Toushirou-kun! You’ve brought a mountain to its knees, you’ve robbed a king of his kingdom. You’ve got a god begging, Toushirou. Please. Please. Please._

  
  


—

  
  


_Toushirou-kun,_

_Today, a couple came to the shrine. They asked for our blessing. They were getting married, you see. I don’t really understand it, but the ceremony was beautiful. The woman was dressed in white, her husband in black. It was a perfect wedding, Zura said. I don’t know what that means, but I’m going to confess to you, Toushirou. For a second, you were there and I was there with you. I wore white and you wore black and you were holding my hand in front of the altar and you looked so happy. With me. You were telling me you’d love me forever, in sickness and in health. I laughed and said I don’t get sick and you smiled. You smiled. At me. With me. For me. You smiled, Toushirou, and I think you were happy. I was. You kissed me underneath the torii gates and you carried me down the mountain. That's what I saw, Toushirou-kun. Do you hate me for it? For seeing us together, for seeing you by my side? Do you hate that I want that? Marriage and love and any promise you were willing to give me? Are you angry that I thought of you being happy with me? Don’t worry too much, Toushirou-kun. They’re all gone now. They left with you. You don’t need to be angry, I can’t reach you from here. I can’t do anything here. So Toushirou, can I ask you something? Am I allowed? Since you’re so far away now, can I ask you to marry me? Will you be angry if I ask now? Should I have asked then? I didn’t think we needed something like that. I thought you were already mine. Turns out I still don’t know that much about humans, huh? I didn’t know we needed to be more than what we were for you to stay. If I ask you now, is it too late? Will you marry me, Toushirou? Will you? I wish you told me back then. I wish I knew. So much for being all-powerful, huh? I couldn’t even figure out how to make you love me enough to stay. I’m sorry, Toushirou. I’m sorry I didn’t know. Please, marry me. Please. Come back._

  
  
  
  


v. lover of wild things you need to let your beast go

  
  
  
  


The last thing Gintoki learns about boys is that they will leave you as easily as they make you fall in love with them. Castles and shrines can crumble as easily as they are erected. He learns that Hijikata Toushirou doesn’t need him and probably never will. Gintoki learns the hard way that gods can’t die, even when their worlds are split in half and their hearts are at the other end of the world. Gintoki learns a lot of things about gods, up on the mountains. He learns that no matter how much he hates them, he will always be one of them. 

Always, always, always.

  
  


—

  
  


_Toushirou-kun,_

_They’re gone. All letters I’ve written to you until now. They’re all gone. Just like you are. I never went back to check them. I never thought I needed to. I don’t know what to think of it. Everything I do always comes back to you, Toushirou-kun. I don’t know what I should do. Should I get angry? Should I feel worried? Should I take this as a sign to forget you? I don’t believe in signs. I believe in you. I don’t know what to do without you here, Toushirou-kun. I’m not sure if I want to do anything without you here. I’m not going to look for the letters. Wherever they are, I hope you read them. I’ll be honest, Toushirou-kun. Sometimes, I have dreams about it, you sitting in the moonlight, smoking, reading my letters. I’ll be there too, watching you read them, because in my dreams I’m brave, in my dreams I’m with you. After you read them you’ll smile. You’ll say I’m being dramatic. Maybe you’ll even laugh, too. I wish I could hear you laugh. Despite everything, in the end, you always kiss me. You bury me underneath your layer of smoke, like you always have. You’ll kiss me and you’ll want me and you’ll be by my side. In my dreams, you never want to leave. That’s always how I know it’s a dream. I hope I never have to see them again, those letters. But if I do, I’ll send them. I hope you’ll accept them. I hope you’ll still accept me._

  
  


—

  
  


_Toushirou-kun,_

_Your heart almost stopped beating today. Please don’t do that again. Please don’t ever stop. I don’t care whether you’re here or there. I don’t care if you remember me or not. I don’t care about anything, Toushirou. Anything except you. And your heartbeat. Don’t you dare ever die, Hijikata Toushirou. Don’t you ever leave. You’ve already left me behind once, Toushirou. You left me and took everything with you. You don’t get to do that again, understand? Don’t you dare stop living. You may not need me anymore but I still can’t live without you. Live, for my sake, whether you remember me or not. Live, for the feelings you once felt here with me. Live, for the people who love you, even if you don’t love them in return anymore. Live, for your new home and the people waiting for you there. Live for them, live for me, it doesn’t matter. Just live, Toushirou-kun. Just live._

  
  


—

  
  


_Toushirou-kun,_

_It’s occured to me that all I ever did to you was take. You always seemed willing to give. You never said anything. I guess that’s my fault too. You never saw me as a boy, did you? You saw me as a god, you saw me for what I really was. Did you feel like you had no choice but to love me? Did you feel like you were trapped in a cage? Did you feel like I was the end of the world for you? The end of all good things? You were the opposite for me, not that it matters anymore. You were the start of all good things. You were everything good and right with this world. You made me good, Toushirou. I hoped we could’ve been good together. I guess we weren’t. I guess you never wanted to be. Is it wrong to still love you? Is it wrong to still want you to come back? Is it wrong to wonder if you’ve let your hair grow out again? Is there anyone in Edo who cuts it for you? Were you happy to leave for Edo, Toushirou? Were you happy to leave me? You won’t ever receive any of these. I hope you never see the old ones too. I hope they’re at the bottom of the lake. I wish I was. Now that I know none of your letters could have possibly been for me, you will never read any of these so I’ll be honest, one last time. I will be honest, because you deserve everything good. Even if I’m not the one who can give it to you. Sometimes, I wish you had asked me. To leave for Edo, that is. Or anywhere. Anywhere would’ve been fine as long as you took me with you. I was so in love with you. I still am. I always will be. I was ready to defy the heavens for you, Toushirou. I was ready to give it all up for you. I’m sorry that I would still give everything up for you. I’m sorry that I can’t stop writing to you. I’m sorry you ever met me. I’m sorry that I love you, forever and always._

  
  


_—_

  
  


_Toushirou-kun,_

_Each day I wake up and I watch the sunrise. Each day I open my eyes and think, ‘I’ve lived this day before. It’s the day that you left.’ Each night I watch the moon take its place in the sky and I think, ‘Toushirou-kun still hasn’t come back, Toushirou-kun will never come back.’ I wondered when you would come home. I wondered for a long time. Now I know better. I know I do. So why am I still waiting? Why do I still want to see you? Why do I still write these? Why can’t I give up? Why do I still believe in you, after all this time?_

  
  


—

  
  


_Toushirou-kun,_

_When you get married to a human girl, will you come to ask for my blessing? Will you come to my mountain? Will you let me see you one last time? I’m sorry. It’s been ten years. I still want to see you. I still want to marry you. I’m sorry._

  
  
  
  


the after

  
  
  
  


In the halls of the mountain king, a god weeps. His fingers are stained black with ink and the parchment he holds wrinkles under his careless hands. In the mountain, you can smell the storm before it hits. You can feel it in the earth, taste it in the air. In the mountain, whether you’re a god or a boy, you can weep. Just as long as it rains. 

And so, it’s begun to rain. So, the god weeps. So, he’s holding a letter that has neat, tidy handwriting. So, he’s holding a key. So, the storm starts. And it doesn’t stop.

So, what?

  
  


—

  
  


(This time, instead of rain, the little god smells tobacco. This time, instead of a storm, a boy steps onto the mountain. This time, instead of weep, the god smiles.)

  
  


—

  
  


_Gintoki,_

_Don’t be so dramatic. I’m coming home. Can you wait for me a little longer? Don’t worry, I won’t get lost. I still remember my way around. I remember everything. I remember you._

_P.S. Your friends say you’ve been throwing these out. Stop it. I want to read all of them. I still want to know everything about you. I always will._

_Yours forever,_

_Toushirou_

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> working title: belay stop using gintama as a coping mechanism
> 
> also!! idk if it was clear but the joui4 + shouyou p much just got tired of gintoki being miserable and gay and they sent his letters to toshi hence the letters disappearing rip
> 
> anyways comments r cool and i’d love to hear ur thoughts!


End file.
